The Lai of Dreadwing
by Cairistona
Summary: An alternate story of how Dreadwing left Megatron's service on the Nemisis. (I.e., instead of getting shot through the spark). -Based off a Medieval tale of a mistreated knight and a fairy queen.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello! I started writing this fic a couple years ago, but I never got around to editing and finishing it even though I kept going back to look at it. It's a bit different from my other TF fics, and all TF fics that I've seen, so I have been concerned about how people will receive it. _

_I must explain that the plot is based completely of Marie de France's "The Lai of Lanval." (If you haven't heard of it, it's from the Middle Ages). I first came across "The Lai of Lanval" in a Medieval literature class. I've since read it several times, once for another class, and this semester, I will be reading it again for yet another class. I am very fascinated by its narrative and themes, especially since it was written by a woman in the twelfth century. _

_Marie's Lai is written in poem form; I tried that with my version, but after much deliberation, I decided to go with prose since I have not the skill that Marie clearly had, and prose works better for most modern readers. I am, however, incorporating alliteration into the work since alliteration is common in Medieval literature. And I shall make a disclaimer for the femme character: I did not make her up from my imagination, but recreated her from Marie's Fairy. As Marie's Fairy is, so this femme is. I will gladly receive feedback, but I will shake my head if anyone says she is a Mary Sue. _

_This is sort of an experiment in writing, so let me know what you think, please! :) _

_And here it goes…_

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Part One

There is a tale of which I'll tell; I'll tell it truly as it happened: a story of a most noble Decepticon, one Dreadwing who dwelt on _The Nemesis,_ drudging under Lord Megatron's decree.

Megatron, of course, we know, is the tyrant, rough ruler of the Decepticons, a mech of mean and malicious methods, whose praise is hardly heard, and retribution is swift, ready. He fought against the Autobots, and sought to seize relics of ancient Cybertronian esteem.

Dreadwing served him loyally, unswervingly. Not always was Dreadwing successful, yet he gave his all, bearing Megatron's rebukes, sorrowfully silent when he failed, vowing to himself to serve better next time.

Long days Dreadwing devoted to his master's decrees, facing threat of death and dire situation, but always he was brave and unbudging; a better lieutenant or follower could not be found, yet Megatron looked light of such loyalty, and he treated not Dreadwing deservingly.

It so happened one day, that Starscream, that supercilious and scurvy Seeker, came back to the ship and spoke of peace and service. Megatron, justly suspicious of this cur, required a cortical patch of the medic that he could scan the Seeker's processor to ascertain his true intent. Dreadwing happened in, and on screen then he saw his brother's miserable fate, a fate brought on by Starscream.

Anguish and woe filled Dreadwing's spark. Rage and pain tore through his frame. He ran from the room, seeking somewhere to find solace. He tore to top of the ship, and wailing in the wind and rain, roaring out his misery.

How could he bear this? How could he stand to have Megatron take Starscream back when he knew that Starscream had sentenced his brother to a fate worse than death?

There was no one who would understand, of that poor Dreadwing had no doubt. The medic was self-obsessed, the paramount of all self-preeners; he would never care. The Vehicons were lowly creatures; nobody of rank would speak to them but to give a command. Megatron, he knew, would sneer and scorn him if he spoke of woe. Soundwave, the silent one, was not a consideration.

Dreadwing clenched his fists; desolate and damaged, as he stood in the rain on the deck. He mourned, grieving deeply, but then he turned with weapon drawn as he heard two fliers approach. They paused in midair above the ship, small fliers, and then they transformed neatly, dropping to the deck with hardly a hum.

They were femmes, both identical, very beautiful. Dreadwing started at such a scene, and they strode close. Their armor was melded of marvelous metals, and it remained resplendent even in rain. Their faces were fair and friendly, and their bodies moved with beauty.

"Dreadwing, esteemed warrior," the first one said. Dreadwing had never heard such a musical voice, "Our commander wishes to speak with you."

Dreadwing then wore a frown. "Who is your commander?" asked he.

"Come, and you shall see," replied the second one. "Our ship is just over there." A spritely hand she swept to the sky, sending Dreadwing's optics to see a silvery ship through the clouds.

It could not cause trouble, he concluded, to heed this call and meet this commander. Megatron did not care what happened to Dreadwing, and Dreadwing supposed that he didn't care himself. The femmes seemed peaceable.

"I will come," he said with a tired nod, and the femmes motioned for him to follow. They trod a step then transformed and flew to the silver ship; transforming again, they landed lightly on its deck, dropping to their pedes.

Dreadwing looked around for faction insignia or weapons, but none come to his sight.

"What faction are you of?" he asked, and they smiled lightly.

"Our commander might tell you," one said with a gentle laugh. The other motioned the door to open; the door slid open, and she went in.

The other gestured for Dreadwing to enter next; he bowed then went as bidden. The ship's interior seemed to shimmer in soft silver tones. Opulence was in the air; the scent was sweet.

"Come," said the first femme, motioning for Dreadwing to follow her as another femme appeared.

Dreadwing hesitated, but she motioned him forwards, and they went down the corridor; the one femme led, and the other two followed behind Dreadwing.

These were the finest hallways that he had even seen. Not even the corridors in the capitol building had been this fine. It was awe-inspiring, so he trod softly as he went.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

The femme in lead stopped at a door and rapped on it lightly. "He is here!" she called with delight.

"Let him come," a beautiful voice called in return as the door slid open.

Dreadwing froze, surprised; the commander of these messenger-femmes was a femme as well.

He looked into the room as he stepped forward, and his optics took in the most beautiful femme that he'd even seen in his life.

She was reclining on a couch of fine copper, the sort only the richest of the nobility had, but she rose to meet Dreadwing.

Her pedes were shod in armor that was golden in color, and fine designs were etched upon that armor. Matching golden armor covered her legs from ankle to knee, but her thighs were bare, showing the fineness of their form. A chain-mail skirt, likewise golden, clung to her hips and covered her as needed, and her sides were bare and gleaming. Light armor covered her bosom, but the curves were not hidden, and the armor cut away to filigree. Her fingers and hands were golden, and her forearms were guarded with goldenness as well, but from elbow to shoulder and neck she was bare.

She held her head with all regality, and there was no mistaking that she was a princess; the crest and fins of her helm were clear about that.

Dreadwing dropped to a knee and bowed low before her. He knew not who she was, but he knew that she was to be respected and honored.

"Bow not before me, esteemed warrior," she said lightly, "Though I like you all the better for it. Come and sit with me. I have much to tell you."

Dreadwing rose and glanced at his three escorts. They smiled, optics twinkling happily, and he realized then they were lightly armored. One waved him on eagerly, and then they hurried from the room as he went toward their commander.

"What have you to tell me?" he asked, stopping before her.

She took his hands in her golden ones and kissed them lightly; the kiss was like the most pleasant breeze of Spring-time.

"You, Dreadwing, are my love," she said, and she smiled gently at his astonishment.

"How so?" he asked. "We have never met."

"You have never met me, true, but I have long known you," she explained. "Will you not sit?"

He hesitated, but she tenderly pulled his fingers. "Come, my Dear-Wing," she coaxed, and he found that he could not resist. He sat down, and she sat near; so near was she that he could smell the sweet metallic scent of her armor.

"Your spark is heavy with sorrow, my warrior, and that makes me sad," she said, tenderly placing her hand over his spark. "I came to comfort you and lighten your burden.

"For a long time I have watched you, even watched over you. I felt your victories and your defeats; I saw how you bore both. I learned that you were noble and honorable. No Decepticon has been as noble as you, O Dreadwing. You have won my spark with your honor and virtue. When I saw you so grieved this day, I could no longer bear to watch from the sidelines; I had to come to you, comfort you, console you."

Dreadwing frowned, trying to make sense of this.

She touched his mouth with her fingers gently, running them over his jaw then. "Frown no longer, my warrior. I have requested, and the word has been given; your brother sleeps in peace. Starscream's end of him has been thwarted by my power. You need not sorrow so much."

She spoke kindly and sincerely, and Dreadwing could not help but feel that she spoke the truth.

"Starscream's wrong of you has been nullified," she stated. "You may rest from that. Megatron's wrong of you, is yet to be tended."

"Megatron has wronged me in no way," Dreadwing said firmly. He knew this was not true; he knew he was mistreated and discounted every day, but he would allow no one to speak ill of his master.

She smiled at his words. "O, my loyal Dreadwing, steadfast to Megatron as you are, you will never let a word cross him. He does not bless your loyalty, though. You must speak the truth."

Dreadwing bowed his head. "I am his Second-in-Command. I ask for nothing more than to serve him as such."

She lifted his chin with delicate finger and kissed him sweetly. "How I love you," she said once her kiss was over. "There is none more loyal or duty-bound than you among the mortals." She sighed. "Despite his harshness to you, you remain his."

Dreadwing kept his mouth closed, but he longed for another kiss. The last one had been like the finest sweet oil on Cybertron.

"Such a mech is to be rewarded, not slighted," she said.

"I will say nothing against my leader and lord," Dreadwing told her firmly.

"That is one reason why I love you so."

Dreadwing gazed at her curiously. The corners of her mouth lifted up in a smile.

"I left my lands to come to you, my warrior," she said, "More than anything, I love you. Do you doubt me?"

Dreadwing looked full into her violet optics. "I could never doubt you."

She smiled. "Could you return my love?" she asked next.

Dreadwing hesitated, amazed at such a question, astonished by such fortune, and apprehensive of the implications its answer might have.

She drew near and kissed his mouth. He returned the kiss deeply, drinking in the sweetness of her lips. She purred softly as she drew back. "You fear that you could not be loyal to both Megatron and me, is that it?" she asked after a moment.

"As delighting and enchanting as I find you, I cannot break my oath to Lord Megatron. You have noted yourself that I am loyal to him."

"I do not ask you to abandon Megatron," she said, rubbing his neck softly. "I require nothing of you except that you tell no one about me. Everything connected to me must be kept a secret."

Dreadwing considered this as he looked her over. If he would tell no one, they could be lovers. She would be his, and he could confide in her.

"How long with you ponder this, my warrior?" She asked, "Am I not lovely enough?" she teased lightly.

"There is none more lovely in all the cosmos," Dreadwing told her sincerely. "I shall tell no one of you." He promised, daring to touch her hand.

"I am yours then," she replied, moving closer. "Every bit of me," she added in a whisper. "Take what you like."

Dreadwing purred and pulled her onto his lap, into his arms, to kiss her neck. Her sides felt silky and delightful under his hands. He slipped a hand down to caress her bare thigh and draw her closer to him as she hugged him in return and purred to him. His lips found their way to her shoulder.

"Take what you like," she whispered again.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello! I'd forgotten that I was posting this story... I got an email notification that someone had just added it to their faves, and I was like, "Oh, that story! I should finish editing and posting that story." So, here you go. Have a third chapter. :)

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Part Three

Dreadwing woke from recharge but did not open his optics. There was a warm feeling of riches and pleasure lingering from the dream he'd had, and he didn't want to disturb it yet. Reality would hit him once he opened his optics, he knew, and he didn't want that yet. He wanted to feel that blissful feeling a little longer. It would fade soon, he knew. He could already feel a heavy weight on his chest.

He awoke a little more and began to realize that the weight was not emotional but physical. Was he trapped beneath something? He couldn't remember. The last thing that he could remember was the femme in his dreams.

Something tickled the corner of his lips. "Smile, my love," a silky voice whispered, "Have you forgotten me?"

Dreadwing snapped his optics open and found the femme lying on top of him. She had been the weight. And she was real.

She gave him the most delightful smile as she laughed like music. "Did you think I wasn't real?" she asked, fascinated by his reaction.

"I… I thought that you had been a mere dream," Dreadwing said, gently rubbing her sides and back.

"Your dream come true, perhaps…?"

"Better than anything I dreamed of," Dreadwing said.

"Oh, you have a silver tongue," she teased, pretending to not believe him.

"You shall believe me," he ordered playfully as he squeezed her leg.

"Yes, my warrior," she replied, bowing her head a moment before she wriggled up to kiss his mouth.

"Mm…" she was delicious. He smiled up at her when she stopped. Then he paused. "I must return to my ship before too long," he said.

"You must be well-fed before you go," she told him, sitting up. "Hmm…" she cocked her head as she looked down at him. "Replace your armor, and I shall summon my femmies to bring us a meal." She swung her foot over and got off him to go to a little computer.

Dreadwing picked up his pieces of armor and put them back on as he watched his femme. She finished at her computer and came tripping lightly back to kiss his lips.

"I shall miss you," he told her.

She grinned, delighted with a wonderful secret. "You never need to when you are alone," she said with a smile. She held up a small and marvelously made device. "This is a communications device," she said, her optics twinkling. "Call for me at any time when you are alone and not in danger of being intruded upon, and I shall come to you."

Dreadwing took the device, looking it over before kissing her.

"I must warn you, though," she said. He stopped and looked at her seriously. "If you tell anybody about me, this pact will be broken, and you will never see me again."

"Did I not promise that I would never tell anybody?" Dreadwing asked.

"You did. I just wanted to make sure you understood."

He nodded. "I understand."

Four femmies came in a moment later, each bearing wonderful and delightful looking Energon and treats. They spread a feast before Dreadwing and his femme at the table, sweet things and high-grade were in abundance, as were soft metals and almost anything he could wish for to eat.

"How is your darling mortal?" one of the femmies whispered eagerly to the femme.

"Sh-!" she replied, "He can hear you."

"Oh!" the femmie exclaimed and stared curiously at Dreadwing.

"He can see you, too," one of the other femmies said, laughing. The other two joined her in laughter as the innocent one blushed.

Dreadwing couldn't help but chuckle gently at her. This caused her to gasp and dart behind one of the other femmies.

"Cease this nonsense, my femmies," Dreadwing's femme told them, although she herself was not far from joining them in laughter. "Go on and attend you own feast."

"Can we invite mortals, too?" one teased as they headed towards the door.

"Oh, hush!" Dreadwing's femme exclaimed, trying not to laugh. "No, not _now_."

Dreadwing pulled her close once the femmies were gone. "Are we mortals so fascinating?" he asked, lifting her chin to gaze into her optics. The glowing lavender was the most beautiful color he'd seen in optics.

She went up on tip-toes and kissed him. "Yes, you are," she said. "Now, it is time to feast before we send you back to your lord."

Dreadwing had never had such a marvelous meal in his life as he had there. He sat on a chair that resembled a throne, and his femme sat on the armrest, handing him good things to eat, sometimes slipping them into his mouth with her fingertips.

Once Dreadwing had his fill, she kissed him, and two femmies came with armor polish and brushes.

"My warrior will gleam when he returns to his ship," said Dreadwing's femme, and it would be so. Vain Knockout would cast a disgruntled optic over the sheen of Dreadwing's armor when the Second-in-Command was seen again.


End file.
